Alexis Eversly

Fuck. He had made a mistake. "Oh. I'm sorry. Was that why you came to count?" He really thought he'd been accurate, but perhaps he'd gotten distracted too much. His mind did wander at times, thinking about his mother and all the things that were rather distracting in life. 

A mistake in the stock. "Yeah, there was a mistake. Not a big one." Before Mike would panic about him firing the boy. He always leapt to the worst conclusions. It reminded him of himself. Like the curve going downwards. Of course that meant in a couple of months he and his family would be living on the streets, or at least out of a shitty London apartment, like the one he used to live in. Rats in the walls, loud neighbours, drug use at every corner... 
 
He looked back at the paper, though he'd lost what exactly he was tracking. Disgruntled he removed the ruler from the paper, looked back at Mike.

...Why did that sound accusatory? Or was he just imagining it? It sounded like the way his father would ask him about things he already knew about. And if it was about the papers, the numbers, had he made a mistake? Had he done something wrong in the store? "Not that I know off. Per se." Why did he repeat Thomas? That was so weird and awkward! "Ehm. Did I make a mistake? With the stock?" 

"Not per se. Is there something you need to tell me?" He said, looking up from the paper, keeping his ruler at the right place, making sure not to lose track. Maybe there was something Mike needed to tell him. Something relating to what he was working on. Perhaps he'd seen something happen? Seen one of his co-workers... But then it wouldn't be at all locations. What was universal to all locations? Him. The brand. But people weren't buying less books than last year, so that wasn't it. How could he make less money, but earn the same amount? Had he gone mad? That didn't make any economic sense?

It seemed odd, the way Thomas looked at him, but he sat down anyway. Sometimes they sat together like this for a while, Thomas working and Mike reading or playing a stupid card game. Thomas had proper dad vibes, so it was nice sometimes to do the things he hadn't ever been able to do with his dad. Like just existing in the same space, learning to be without fear of judgement. It didn't feel like that right now, though. There was something off about Thomas, though he couldn't place it. Thomas still did work, though it wasn't as much as he used to, but he always seemed to have time when you knocked on the door. He offered you a cookie, listened. Maybe Mike had come by too often, overstayed his welcome in the office?
 
"Thanks. Do you want me to be quiet?" If there was important work, of course he could just sit and drink his chocolate milk until Thomas was done.

Ah. Mike. With chocolate milk. 1.230+1.513, and then the newest books, 4.245, ah, that was slightly different than what Mike had counted, 4.238, but small errors like that were human, he made them himself too. When customers came past to ask questions, it could be easy to get distracted. "Thanks." He said, looking up at the man. Mike. He was like family, lived with him. But he also worked for him. But if Mike wanted to rob him he'd do it in different ways. How could he even think about Mike robbing him? It was like thinking Blythe would rob him. It was laughable. The boy was so keen to prove himself, brought him chocolate milk, for Christ sake. Yet he seemed nervous. He had two cups of chocolate. 
 
"Would you like to sit?" He asked, smiling shortly at him. When Mike seemed nervous, he normally wanted to chat. Maybe.... No. It was impossible.

Normally he was the one doing the stock count in the diagon alley store. So when Thomas had shown up with parchment and paper and had started counting he felt a little confused. It was also because Thomas hadn't said a thing to him about it, had simply told him he needed to count it. It made him feel like he hadn't done his job properly, had made a mistake. Why else would mr. Hawk not trust his work? He'd walked through it in his mind, which had turned into a droning sensation in his head. A worry. He didn't want to disappoint mr. Hawk, was rather proud of the work he did in the store and he couldn't find a reason for the life of him why Thomas couldn't rely on his countings if he trusted him, which also sparked another rotation of the world named 'Michael Baker: never good enough'. All the worry had kept him up at night and he'd figured it was enough.
 
He'd just ask. Thomas had always said to just ask if he worried about something. So he'd gotten the both of them some chocolate milk, before knocking on the door with his elbow bone. 
 
Thomas didn't even look at him. 
 
Fuuuu-
 
"Mr. Hawk? I have some chocolate milk for you." Come on, come on. "And ehmr..." He trailed off, feeling so nervous his throat was hurting. He seemed busy. 

It simply wasn't possible. In all his stores, there was a loss turning up. It had started slow at first, he'd written it off as a few stolen books and had bemoaned people who'd steal books. He'd turned up security, but even after that, the curve on the print from his bank account had kept sloping downwards. He was losing money. And it didn't make sense. The numbers were correct, were the same as the year passed when he did make a good profit, so why was there now a difference? He had spent the last few days in his stores, counting the stock, checking the logs for accuracy, but there were no faults in them. 
 
So he was bent over the books once again, using a ruler to pass by all the stock numbers, to write them down to check them against the numbers he'd seen. Cause that was the only thing it could be by now, someone stealing from the stock themselves, but he trusted all his employees and the security was top-notch. He did pay for the best, so it didn't make sense.
 
He was sipping from his fourth cup of coffee of the day when he heard a knock on his door. "Yep. Come in." He said, not looking up.

"Zwanger?” Oh, wat erg! Hij moest vast doodsangsten uitstaan dat hij zijn kindje nooit zou leren kennen. Ergens, ergens droomde Dolores van kinderen, een kroost van zeven, een groot huis met constant getater en geklater en de welriekende geur van liefde uit de keuken, maar tegelijkertijd dacht ze niet dat zoiets realistisch was voor haar. Wie wilde er nu met haar trouwen? Ze kon geen samenhangend verhaal van drie regels vertellen, elke gedachte een fragment zonder begin of eind. Niemand wilde een levensverhaal schrijven met iemand zoals zij. “Dat is erg! Wanneer gebeurt het? Kan het dan niet zo snel mogelijk? Hij wil vast wel bij zijn kindje zijn...” 

... Hè? Deze avond bleef maar vreemder worden. Ja, het was zijn eigen schuld, want hij had niets moeten zeggen – zijn naïviteit altijd, het leidde hem alleen maar naar conversaties die hij niet wilde hebben – maar Desmond had er nu ook wel minder absurdistisch op kunnen reageren. Hij had niet dezelfde gevoelens, maar hij ging hem wel kussen, wat prima was, hoor, dat was niet het deel waarover hij klaagde, en nu beweerde hij dat ze een relatie hadden? Dom genoeg had hij gedacht dat Desmond niet zodanig met hem de spot zou drijven. Stom, in wezen. Hij had moeten zien aankomen dat dit niet goed zou lopen.
 
"Het spijt me al, oké?" Abrupt stond hij op. "Laat het gewoon zitten."

Nou, dat was niet de ervaring die zij had met die mensen. Als ze voor hen gespeeld had en naar de foyer kwam deden sommige rijke mensen net of ze voor hen persoonlijk speelde en konden ze hun muzikale mening niet voor zich houden, ondanks dat geen van hen haar bekend klonken uit de muziekwereld. Of de feestjes waar ze met Nostalgia of Paradise soms speelde, die besloten dat haar 'nee' op hun avances een hele belediging in hield. Ze had het al voorgehad dat ze een mevrouw in een groepje waar ze uitgenodigd in was had gecomplimenteerd met de uniekheid van haar jurk en toen was het plots zo ongemakkelijk, waar Sascha het helemaal niet raar bedoelt had.
 
"Oké ik ben benieuwd." Knikte ze, want ze wilde het zeker wel proberen. "En ook benieuwd naar je zaak. Wow. Je zaak. Dat is echt wel indrukwekkend dat je straks een eigen zaak hebt."

Ze knikte. "Dat zal fijn zijn, want ik wil er deel van zijn." En rijke mensen bleven rijk. Als het rijke leven echt zo saai en stom was, dan zouden ze al hun geld wel weggeven en dat deden ze niet. Helaas voor haar vroegere zelf want toen had ze wel graag meer geld gehad. Dat zat nu wel goed, gelukkig. "Dan moet je me ook tonen hoe de basis etiquette is tussen mensen van jou stand. Ik wil niet per ongeluk iemand compleet beledigen." Dat was toch wel haar grootste nachtmerrie die ze had momenteel, dat ze iets niet begreep, de verkeerde keuze maakte en dat iedereen die van Neptunus hield haar aan zou kijken alsof ze net een doos puppy's vermoord had, waardoor het met Neptunus over en uit was.

Kijk, dit irriteerde hem dus. Omdat hij opperde dat zijn vader misschien nog leefde, werd er gelijk naar hem gekeken alsof hij geestelijk niet in orde was. Zijn moeder maakte zich zorgen om hem, maar dat hoefde helemaal niet. Stephen wilde gewoon iemand om mee te praten. Iemand di eniet gelijk zijn argumenten en gedachtes van tafel veegde alsof hij gestoord was. Die wel bereid om te praten over de mogelijkheid dat zijn vader nog leefde. Bij oom Eric kon hij het meeste terecht, al hield die ook dingen achter. Die had echter niet alles ontkent en had hem zelfs de optie gegeven die brief te schrijven. Dat was al meer dan hij van zijn moeder of broer kon verwachten.
 
“Nee, Harold bedoelt het niet goed”, snauwde Stephen, zijn eindeloos geduld nu toch zo langzamerhand op de proef gesteld. Aan de manier waarop Harold zijn toast te lijf ging, kon hij zien dat zijn broer net zo gefrustreerd was, maar om andere redenen. Stephen haalde nonchalant zijn schouders op, alsof het hem allemaal weinig kons chelen. “Weet ik niet. Ik wil gewoon weten wat zijn verklaring is”. Hij wist eerlijk gezegd ook niet wat hij verwachtte, maar hij kon ook niet alles negeren. Hij was te nieuwsgierig. “Dat heb ik helemaal niet gezegd! Er is geen excuus goed genoeg om dit alles goed te praten, maar dan mag ik nog wel vragen waarom hij ons in de steek gelaten heeft!”. Zijn stem werd steeds luider en hij wilde het liefst zijn eigen toast naar zijn broer gooien. “Ik heb helemaal niet gezegd dat het daarna weer goed is. Ik wil gewoon... Antwoorden”. Zoals hij op alles eenantwoord wilde.
 
Harold had hem net zo goed in zijn gezicht kunnen slaan. Dat kwam even hard aan als de opmerking dat hij niets gaf om zijn familie. Langzaam stond Stephen op terwijl zijn woede het kookpunt bereikte. Voor het eerst in zijn leven voelde hij zich zo boos dat hij niet wist hoe hij er mee om moest gaan. “JIJ hebt een hekel aan ons! Vanaf het moment dat papa weg was, kon je niets anders dan dan problemen veroorzaken. Ik was hier voor mama, om te zorgen dat ze niet zo alleen was. Maar nee, alles moest draaien om Harold. Harold dit, Harold dat. En als het niet om jou ging dan zorgde je er wel voor”. Hij vroeg zich af wat zijn moeder zou doen als hij Harold daadwerkelijk iets naar zijn hoofd gooide, maar dat was ook weer zonde van haar servies.
 
“Elke keer als ik over papa begin, dan vegen jullie allebei mijn vragen weg. Jullie praten er overheen alsof er niets aan de hand is!”. En hij was er klaar mee. Stephen smeet gefrustreerd de vork die hij nog in zijn hand had neer. “Ik ga hem zoeken”, besloot hij ter plekke. Hij had geen idee hoe, maar hij verzon wel iets. Misschien. Voor nu wilde hij vooral zowel zijn moeder als zijn broer op de kast jagen. “Ik neem aan dat jullie mij niet gaan helpen?”.

Ze hield haar schouders op, voelde zich wat ongemakkelijk. "Ik ben er gewoon een beetje bang van, denk ik. Viool spelen en het podium heeft mijn leven gered, heeft me uit de diepte van die eetstoornis getrokken. Ik heb schrik dat als ik de viool neerzet dat dat weer terug komt. Misschien biedt het leven met jou veiligheid daarvan. Dat was gewoon hetgeen wat me leven gaf. Ik zie mezelf wel als moeder, dat we een mooie grote tuin hebben waar de kinderen in spelen en dat ik lekkers aan het bakken ben en limonade maak voor jullie buiten. Dat zie ik denk ik even hard zitten. Het is gewoon anders dan ik in mijn hoofd had voor mijn leven, voordat ik jou kende. Toen was ik alleen echt daarmee bezig. En met de jongens in mijn boeken, maar die kunnen geen familie maken. Ik ken gewoon ook niks van jouw laag in de samenleving, dus dat maakt de angst ook wat groter."

It was hard to hear him cry, so she wrapped her arms around him tightly, petting his hair gently. Like a mother would. She had to push down her own anger and frustration with him, for now, anyway. Maybe she'd vent it to Rye instead. Now it felt like being mean to him was kicking him while he was down. "Just don't ever do that again, Mike. It breaks my heart. I love you, asshole." 
 
Then they just sat, watching the tree and flowers in the garden. After a while Mike invited her in for a cup of tea. She felt a little better. At least she knew. Ugh. She hated that she knew.
 
Sascha and Michael out

It was weird, hearing Sascha speak this way to him. Nobody in his family spoke to him that way. His mum was nice, at times, but in different ways. Was it true what she was saying? He didn't know. He felt like he was zoning out, seeing everything blurry for a bit, feeling like her words didn't reavh him and yet they did. He leaned his head on her shoulders and felt so deeply sad. Why hadn't anyone spoken to him like this? It was weird, it felt right yet he hated it. He hated the pain, yet he hated the love. He never felt settled. And this guilt felt good, in ways, she was right about that. Now he didn't drink anymore he had to have other reasons for people to hate him, so when one presented itself... Didn't make it right. Definitely didn't make it right.

Mike always made mistakes. But this was something else. "You're a fucking idiot." She said, a little harsh, but she could see he really was regretful, which made her soften out after looking at him with a strict look for a few seconds. "You deserve to love yourself better than that. You know it brings you pain, that's why you do it. But you're my nephew and you're good and kind. That's how I know it fucking stings. Though I think this one should, because you really, really took the piss this time, you're worthy of love and compassion. I really want you to act on those qualities. Care for yourself like you care for me. You'd never let me do to myself what you've done to yourself. To ruin my friendships, you'd grab my hand and sit me down and tell me to take a walk, go play my violin for a bit and think about it. And you owe yourself that much. You've been bullied by our family enough for your entire life, so you shouldn't keep on bullying yourself. It hurts me to see you do it." She said, feeling tearful because she could see him at every step. Saw it so clearly now. He did drugs because it made the family talk bad about him, while making him feel good. He shagged his best friend's wife for the very same reason. It was so sad to see. 

The problem was, the kid kinda seemed to add to the problem, which was why Sascha's words didn't comfort him. She was in that big barn, alone with the kid. What could go wrong! Maybe he'd have to send Nehemia. If Xati made a dumb decision, nobody would be there to do what she'd done for him. Emilia would be motherless and Rye a widower. He would ask Nehemia today. "I really am sorry about all this. If I could take it back I would." It hadn't been worth it by a long shot, it had been stupid. He'd lost his best mate, a safe place he loved. Those didn't cross his path all that often, and now his friends looked at him differently, his family. 

She wanted to say it was probably for the best he hadn't sent any letters, but it did sound concerning. She didn't really know what to say to that. "I'm sure she'll be fine. She still has her child." That was what Rye had seemed heartbroken about too. "I don't think it works like that, either. I don't think it does. But I'm sure she'll get help if she needs it." She didn't know this girl, but Sascha really disliked her for what she'd done, but she wished her well. She'd only once been that deep into a dark hole and was happy she'd gotten out and didn't wish it on anyone.

It hurt to hear her being hurt and he mumbled another apology. He wondered if anyone ever sunk through the earth, just from the sheer amount of guilt in their body. He thought he'd be a candidate for it right now. "Yeah. I know." Little Emilia... Shit. Of course, Xati had played her part too, she'd been the one to kiss him, but he'd kissed back and then everything after. "Sometimes I think about sending her an owl, just to check up with how she's doing. But I figure it's not really my place. Just... That night, she was talking about not wanting to be here anymore. She found me during my attempt. I wonder like, if I hadn't, maybe she wouldn't be feeling this way. I never send her the owl, though. I really don't want to make Rye think I am still wanting to... Cause I don't." He'd stopped taking the magic Viagra, anyway, so his dick wouldn't work, even if he'd want it to.

Yeah, that was right. He didn't think. He just did, always had. Then she reprimanded herself for that thought. He was trying to change. But then he did these things, it was hard to keep faith. "Well obviously it was awkward." She said, slightly annoyed. "Just... Stop doing that dumb shit. You seem hell-bent on ruining yourself. It's hard to care for someone like that. It hurts me when you're hurting but this... You've put me in such an awkward conversation. Real asshole behaviour." Because now every time she wanted to talk about her family with her friend she couldn't, because he'd think of Mike. "He has a baby and everything, too." She said, pained. Little Emilia was so cute and Mike just destroyed a family.

It made sense she needed answers. Rye wasn't the kind of person to hurt other people. Unless he had a damn good reason to. Was. Past tense. Rye had told Sascha that Rye was his friend. Somehow Mike'd still hoped, but that was getting more difficult. He didn't even know where his mate was, not at Xati's barn anymore, that was for sure. Mike didn't know Xati had moved herself, since he hadn't contacted her since that last time they'd...
 
"I didn't think." It had all been passion, feeling seen and then, after the first time, it didn't matter anymore. "I am sorry. It must've been an awkward conversation with Rye."

He did feel bad. Good. He wouldn't do it again. She looked at him, but he looked at everything but her. "You were right in that. But I had to know. He's my best friend, and a good guy. A kind man, who wouldn't do something like what he'd done under normal circumstances. I couldn't just act like he didn't stab my favourite cousin." She was protective of Mike, cared for him. Why would she not confront someone who'd stabbed him, hurt him? "I'm just in shock. I know you're... you. But he was your friend?"

Okay, low-key it was kind of funny to see his cousin squirm in her word choice. He would've laughed, if it weren't for the serious topic she brought up, the shame it caused in the pits of his stomach. He pressed his lips and eyes closed, as if it could save him from the humiliation he'd pushed upon himself. He took a beat to take a breath, to shake his head, think of anything to say. "I'd told you you wouldn't want to know." He said, looking at her with a single glance before he looked away again.

Oh God, that was the most awkward conversation she probably ever had with her best friend. And she had to talk to her cousin, because there were so many emotions fighting for the forefront. She loved him dearly, but he was, truly, a fucking idiot. Literally and figuratively. It was disgusting, and yet she hadn't expected more of him, but then she reprimanded herself for thinking that. Best to talk to him first, she thought, to let it out. So she'd knocked on the Hawk mansion's door, asked for Mike and asked for him to come to the back garden. She didn't think it wise to have this conversation inside of the home she used to work at. 
 
"Mike? You know I love you, and care about you. Prefacing this with that because I do and don't want you to end up in the hospital again.... What went through your mind when you hmm-hmm'd with my best friend's wife?" She couldn't even say it.